Cinnamon, Spice, and Everything Nice
by MidnightBlack07
Summary: How appropriate it was for her to smell like cinnamon; an immaculately measured tango between the sweet and the abrasive." In the midst of her desire to speak with Stefan, Bonnie is greeted by Damon...


_**Cinnamon, Spice, and Everything Nice**_

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_**Author's Note: **__So, I've developed a rather unhealthy obsession with __**The Vampire Diaries**__ (read: Damon), and this little plot bunny's been running (or hopping) around in my head for quite some time now. I took a few quotes from the show out of context, hope that doesn't rub anyone the wrong way * tehehe.* Oh, and Damon's attitude towards Elena is a bit more hostile here than I feel it is on the show. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for Damon/Elena, but I just felt that it suited what I was trying to do here for him to harbour a bit of hostility towards her. Enjoy lovelies! _

_**Disclaimer: **__I own nothing aside my meagre (and admittedly unoriginal) plot and my unhealthy obsession._

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_I breathe you in again  
just to feel you underneath my skin  
holding on to the sweet escape  
is always laced with the familiar taste of poison  
Taste of Poison_- Halestorm

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Even before he pulled the door open and leaned against its frame, Damon could _smell _it; for she positively_ reeked_ of it. She was afraid of him. No, she was not afraid. She was positively terrified.

She was justified, he supposed. In all fairness, he had nearly ended her life only a few days prior.

And, in all honesty, he thrived at the scent of her fear. It amused him, it quelled (albeit feebly) his rage towards her wretched ancestor. The Backstabber. The Bitch.

And here, he had her little gran-witch at his mercy, a hairline between her life and her death. A hairline that a mere flick of his wrist could easily eradicate. Prim and proper Emily must be turning in her grave, the stench of fear pervading that of death. That is, of course, assuming that corpses could _feel_. Not that Damon would ever know. The thought garnered a mental snicker.

"Where is Stefan?" the little Witch asked- no demanded- for what may have possibly been the second time.

Really, did she and Katherine's washed out clone compare notes? If not for their physique, he could have sworn that the two were one. Their unrelenting endeavour to parade their righteousness and contempt before him was getting rather archaic. He _did _have better things to attend to. Things that could have easily been attended to a few days prior, had there been a trace of honour in the blood that streamed through the veins of the little witch before him…

Although, this one emanated what Katherine's doppelganger did not: _power_. Pure, pulsing power. And Damon had tasted it (quite literally).

"Damon, is Stefan home or not?" She repeated, her agitation becoming increasingly apparent.

"Nope." He answered quite simply, smirk intact.

She drew in a breath, making quite an impressive attempt at masking her fear. She was far less impressive at masking her disdain.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No Bonnie, I don't. He failed to mention it."

She let out a shaky breath, enabling Damon to sense an undertone to her fear: _urgency_. The little witch was in need of Stefan's assistance… perhaps even _dire _need. And, really, who was Damon to deny a pretty little thing her needs?

"You're welcome to wait for him if you like? I'm sure he'll be hopping on back any minute now." He flashed the most charming artificial smile he could muster. Though, truth be told, his cunning enabled him to deduce that his efforts would be lost on her and her preconceived notions of him. Nonetheless, where was the pain in trying?

"You tried to kill me." She shook her head in disbelief. "You really think I'll just sit down for some afternoon tea with you?"

"But I didn't. And I could have if I had wanted to. Does that not count for anything?"

Tactful humour always did the trick. Although, perhaps not where scorned little witches were concerned…

"Goodbye Damon."

Before she had completely turned her body in the opposing direction he stood before her. The abruptness combined with the incomprehensible speed of his movement caused her to stumble backwards as her jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"Damon," she implored with more courage than the both of them knew she had at the moment.

So, the little witch was not going to cower before him the way many a mortal had. Personally, he blamed it on the magic... it must offer its keeper some sense of security knowing that she could do what most would never even fathom.

He tilted his head, examining every crevice of her rather pretty face and awarded her with a slight quirk of his lip. After all, Damon knew better than any that among the throng of cowering masses, a worthy adversary was a rarity that one should savour.

"What's the rush?" he shrugged. "Come, I'm sure he'll be back any minute."

He held out his left hand as if to guide her into the house, a gesture that any ignorant viewer would have deemed hospitable.

Damon could see her mind working furiously, weighing the pros and cons of turning down his request no doubt. Finally, she let out a sigh that was probably shakier than she would have preferred.

"Can you promise to keep yourself in check until he gets here? And by that I mean no fangs?"

"Yes," he stares her right in the eye and nods his head in utter conviction, willing her to believe that she will be safe... regardless of whether or not that would indeed be the case.

"Come," he lets his hand get as close to her lower back as he deemed "appropriate."

Bonnie allows him to lead her into the house without objection. But he was no fool; her scent did not cease in giving away her fear, causing his lip to quirk for the umpteenth time since the start of their encounter. Perhaps he would toy with his end of the bargain. In all fairness, no one could claim that he was not entitled to a bit of fun after the stint Emily pulled.

And so, when Bonnie Bennett turned to face Damon he was closer and taller than she would have preferred him to be. To top it all off, his face was far too bland for her liking.

"You know Bonnie, I haven't had a decent meal for, well, days," he informed her lightly.

The implications of that simple sentence caused a peak in her fear; compelling her eyes to widen and her mouth to fall open.

"You promised," she reminded him rather forcefully, once more surprising him with her unrelenting effort to appear and unfazed.

"So did Emily," he retorted.

Truth be told, Damon was far more tempted by her than he had anticipated. The nectarous taste of her blood, so tinged with a rare spice he assumed was exclusive to those witches (Bree came to mind). She was a breath of fresh air in the midst of Stefan's sorry excuse for a diet. Truth be told, she was a breath of fresh air in _many_ context. Said contexts were not something Damon wished to explore at the moment however.

"That wasn't my fault Damon!" She was as close to hysterical as she would probably ever allow him the sadistic pleasure of seeing her. The fact that this borderline hysteria warmed her blood and propelled its scent forward ever more strongly was no help to Damon's present predicament (or the little witch's for that matter).

"No, I suppose not..." nonetheless, he edged even closer, dropping his head down to the curve of her neck.

She stood as still as a statue despite her escalating heartbeat and the slight quickening of her breath.

"Mmm," he let out the sound of approval almost involuntarily as he sniffed the skin directly above her pulse point.

She smelled of cinnamon. Cinnamon and blood. How appropriate it was for her to smell like cinnamon; an immaculately measured tango between the sweet and the abrasive.

The tip of her nose touched her skin in the faintest of manners. The movement, despite its innocuousness, did not fail to garner a sharp intake of breath from her.

"Damon..."

She urged him softly, faintly even. In that one utterance, she has upended her brave act. She had revealed her fear, her _weakness_, and laid it at his mercy. And, in this particular case, Damon chose to be surprisingly merciful.

He withdrew from her current ministrations, and even took a step back to allow her the "personal space" they all seemed to hold so dear.

She was breathing rather heavily, her gaze darting from one of her eyes to the next as if in fear of some form of treachery. He didn't blame her. Nonetheless, He offered her a lazy smirk and stepped aside; sweeping his right hand over the expanse of free speech he had now (generously) allowed her.

She remained stoically still, preferring to continue eyeing him with a mixture of fear and suspicion.

"What are you trying to prove?" She asked him in a tone that suggested utter disbelief.

He inclined his head slightly, all the while keeping his lazy smirk intact. The little witch's seething insides must have exceeded his preferred 98.6 temperature; for her eyes narrowed and she held his gaze with an intensity that many could not have mustered.

"Whatever this game is Damon, keep it and yourself the hell away from me."

And with that she turned and walked right out the front door, physically unscathed, albeit a bit shaken.

The little witch had some serious _spunk_. And Damon was certainly no exception to the spunk enamoured masses.

Indeed, this would not be his last tenebrous tango with Bonnie Bennett... or her blood.

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**Author's Note: **_So, what did you guys think? Please, please, pretty please with cinnamon spice and everything nice on top leave me a review and let me know; you'll make my life! *lol* I definitely hope to post more TVD fics in the coming weeks, this second hiatus might just do me in if I don't! I'm thinking of doing a Damon/OC multi-chaptered story, but I'm not sure how to get past the extent of his love for Katherine without going totally AU *scratches head.* I'd love to hear your opinions or suggestions, so (again lol) please review or message me! _


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